My husband Troy and I were struck speechless on the drive home from Helmar that night. What we had experienced was so tender. That church had embraced us as if we were their own. They listened to our story. They laughed with us, encouraged, asked good questions and in the end one farmer in the congregation took off his hat and

Mimi, this wasn’t a very good bedtime story.
My granddaughter said with tears in her eyes as we finished up the animated version of the death and resurrection of Jesus.

“Why do you say that?” I asked her.
“Because there was so much murder.” she replied.

After I tucked her into bed and we had spent some time talking to the Jesus that had been brutally murdered on the television screen just an hour ago, I